Marked

Chapter 20

RIV POV

The second I said it, I wanted to take it back. Not because she didn’t deserve it. Because she did. But because it felt… dangerous. Too real. Too much.

“My name is Rivenn,” I’d said. “But… you can call me Riv.”

Her breath caught. Not loud. But I heard it. Felt it. She didn’t speak right away, and for a second, I thought I’d made a mistake. For a second, I felt exposed in a way I hadn’t in over a century.

Not when I’d bled. Not when I’d begged the gods to kill me in the quiet of my cell. But now. Because of her.

The name wasn’t just a name. It was everything that came with it. The boy I used to be. The mother I’d lost. The male I never got to become.

Rivenn died a long time ago. But here, now, with her… Maybe he wasn’t gone. Maybe he was just waiting. She looked at me like she saw all of it. All of me.

And she didn’t flinch. Didn’t shrink back. She just smiled. Small. Soft. Real.

And said, “Okay, Riv.”

I felt something break and heal in the same breath. She didn’t pull away after I gave her my name. She leaned in.

“I used to love working in the garden,” she said, her voice like soft earth and memory. “Aelira—my adoptive mother—kept it behind the cottage. Rows and rows of everything you could think of. Carrots, beans, herbs that made the whole yard smell like spring.”

She looked down at her hands, palms resting in her lap, like she could still feel the dirt under her nails.

“I’d help her in the mornings. Pull weeds. Gather vegetables. She used to hum while she worked. Never songs I recognized, just melodies. Light and slow, like wind through trees.”

I didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Just listened. Let her voice wrap around the cold corners of my soul.

She smiled faintly. “Dereth—my adoptive father—would call me in late afternoon. Said if I had the strength to dig up turnips, I had the strength to hold a sword.”

She glanced up at me. Her eyes caught the torchlight like polished emeralds. “We’d train behind the barn. Just the two of us. Wooden blades at first. Staves when I got stronger. He never went easy on me.”

A ghost of a laugh left her lips. “But he never made me feel like I had to earn my place. They never did.”

Something inside me pulled tight. The kind of tight that comes before a snap. I didn’t know what that felt like. Not really. To be wanted just for being. To have a place, a rhythm, a reason to smile in the mornings.

She was still talking. Still looking back at that life like it was distant but close. A heartbeat away.

And I—

Gods, I wanted to live in that memory with her.

Even if only for a breath.

“You were lucky,” I said quietly.

Not bitter. Just real. She looked at me then. Brow lifted. “Maybe.”

I leaned back against the wall, chains clinking faintly with the shift.

“But I think you were more than that.”

She tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“You made it out,” I said. “You didn’t turn to ash. You didn’t become what hurt you.”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. We just sat there, quiet between us. A moment hanging in the stillness like a held breath. And then I said it. Didn’t plan to. Didn’t stop myself either.

“Say it again.”

She blinked. “Say what?”

I didn’t meet her eyes when I replied.

“My name.”

She was quiet for a beat. And then another.

I kept my eyes fixed on the stone floor, jaw tight, heart pounding harder than it should have for something so small. So simple.

Just a name. Just a sound. But it wasn’t small. Not to me. Not now.

She shifted on the cot, barely moving, but I could feel her attention settle on me again like sunlight through a canopy—warm, cautious, soft.

Then she said it.

“Riv.”

Just that. One syllable. And it still hit like a blade through the ribs. But it didn’t hurt. Not this time. It sank in slow. Soft. Like the first breath after surfacing from too long underwater.

No one had said it like that in over a century.

Not since I was a boy, sitting at the guard captain’s table, too small for my sword, too proud to show fear. Not since Hal grunted it from across the training yard like it meant something.

But from her lips… it was different. She didn’t say it like it was earned. She didn’t say it like I’d failed to deserve it. She said it like it already belonged to me. Like I belonged to me.

I finally looked at her. Met her gaze. And the way she smiled—just the faintest curve, just for me—I knew I’d give anything to hear it again.

And gods help me… I think she knew it. I didn’t want to break the moment. Didn’t want to ask something that would shut her down. But I wanted to know.

Needed it, almost.

“You said their names were Aelira and Dereth,” I murmured.

She nodded.

“Where are they now?”

Her smile flickered, just for a second. It didn’t disappear entirely—just softened into something more bittersweet.

“I left when I was eighteen.”

Her voice had changed. Still quiet, but different now—measured. Guarded around the edges.

“I had to.”

I kept my expression neutral. Gentle. Waiting.

“I’m not sure what they’re up to anymore,” she said, staring down at her hands. “They’re still alive. At least… I hope they are. But I haven’t spoken to them in years.”

She swallowed.

“I visit their homestead sometimes. Around Yulemas.”

The word was familiar, faintly. A Thalorian holiday. Something about the turning of the year, renewal, light in the longest dark.

I wondered if she’d ever had a Yulemas feast in peace. With safety. With firelight and music and people who loved her.

“I don’t let them see me,” she added, almost like a confession. “I just… watch from the edge of the woods. Make sure they’re okay.”

A silence settled between us, deeper now. Heavier.

“You left to protect them,” I said.

It wasn’t a question. She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. I felt something coil low and sharp in my chest. That familiar ache—the one I used to ignore, the one I’d tried to kill.

But it was alive now. Fully, blazingly alive. I wanted to ask why. What she was running from. Who she was hiding from. But I didn’t.

Because I could see the way her hands curled in her lap. The way her shoulders dropped like she was carrying something she’d never set down.

So instead of asking, I just stayed still. Present. With her.

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The sound came slowly. Boots on stone. Metal clinking. Voices low and distant, echoing through the cavern halls. She heard it too. I saw the flicker of tension in her spine.

Saw the quiet parting of her lips as she turned toward the door. And just like that, the moment we’d been suspended in—warm and fragile and impossibly close—fractured.

Not shattered. But the edges cracked, just enough to remind us that the world outside this cell still existed.

Still demanded. Still watched.

Ryn rose from the edge of the cot without a word. Her hands moved efficiently, collecting the water basin and the empty plate. The blankets remained. That small, quiet mercy stayed with me.

She didn’t meet my eyes as she stepped toward the bars. Didn’t have to.

I sat back, the chains rattling softly as I adjusted my posture—shoulders squared, expression hardened just slightly. Not a mask. Not anymore. But a defense. A habit.

The guards pushed the door open without knocking. One of them gave me a long look. Suspicious. Wary.

The other just grunted toward Ryn. “Time’s up.”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t argue. She just gave a small nod and stepped through the door. But before the guards could reach for the lock again, she paused.

Turned back. Eyes met mine—steady, unreadable, but no longer cold.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she said softly.

Not loud enough for the guards to care. Just loud enough for me to hear. She was coming back. And for some damned reason, that mattered more than anything else in the world right now.

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RYN POV

The cell door shut behind me with a slow, metallic click. The guards stood with their arms crossed, eyeing me like I’d just spent too long in a lion’s den and walked out smiling.

They didn’t say anything. But I could feel the tension radiating from them. I didn’t hesitate.

I reached into the small pouch at my hip and pulled out a few silver crescents, pressing them into the taller guard’s hand.

“For the night,” I said. “Unshackle his wrists. Let him move freely inside the cell.”

The shorter one opened his mouth, probably to argue.

“I’ll vouch for him,” I added before he could speak. “And if anything happens, the consequences fall on me.”

That shut him up. The coins were good. But my name? My risk? That sealed it.

They exchanged a glance. Then the tall one gave a curt nod and slid the cell door back open. I waited as they stepped inside and unlatched the cuffs from Riv’s wrists. I didn’t look back.

Didn’t need to. I could feel his eyes on me the whole time. I turned and walked away. The air in the upper tunnels was cooler. Quieter.

But I carried the warmth from that cell with me, tucked somewhere behind my ribs like a secret.

By the time I reached my quarters, the cavern was still. A soft torch burned low in the wall sconce. My blankets were still tangled from the last night I was here.

I set down the empty plate and basin. Shrugged off my jacket. Unfastened my boots with slow, deliberate movements. But sleep didn’t come quickly. I lay down, on the cot softened by furs, and stared at the jagged ceiling overhead.

My mind ran circles. Not about plans. Not about strategy or duty or the rebellion. Just… his voice. His name. That quiet moment when he looked at me like I wasn’t just another rebel. Another captor. Like I was someone.

Rivenn.

Riv.

It felt dangerous to have that name. Even more dangerous to care about it. But I did.

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RYN POV

I woke to silence. Not the soft kind that wrapped around you like a blanket. The other kind. The kind that pressed down like a warning.

I sat up slowly, blinking away the weight of restless sleep. My dreams had been fragmented, half-memories, half-lies—flashes of a male with chains on his wrists and a voice I couldn’t stop hearing.

Riv.

His name echoed in my mind the way a heartbeat lingers after a fight. Not just because he’d said it. But because he’d given it to me. And for the life of me, I didn’t know what to do with that.

I dressed quietly, tugging on my boots and tying twin braids that framed my face. The air in my quarters was cool, the cavern walls already dim despite the morning hours. The Veil never slept, but it did wait. Just long enough for you to forget how much the weight of it cost.

I made my way through the tunnels, nodding at a few passing rebels, but not stopping to speak. My steps carried me back toward the dungeon before I’d even made the decision.

I needed to check on him. Needed to see if the guards had followed my instructions. Needed to make sure he—

No. Not needed.

Just… wanted.

Gods, that was worse.

When I reached the end of the hallway, the same two guards were posted outside his cell. They stood straighter when they saw me, but neither looked particularly alarmed.

“He’s awake,” one of them muttered. “Didn’t sleep much, but he behaved.”

“Chains are off, as you asked.”

I nodded once, throat tight, and pushed the door open. He was sitting on the cot, elbows on his knees, head tilted slightly like he’d heard me coming from farther down the corridor. Those dark blue eyes found mine instantly. No fear. No arrogance. Just… quiet.

“Morning,” I said softly.

His mouth quirked, just barely. “You kept your promise.”

I stepped fully into the cell and closed the door behind me. For the first time, I didn’t feel like a guard. Or a rebel. Or a threat.